


Midnight Plague

by DarkArtsDabbler (TheiaNoire)



Category: DC (Comics), Marvel (Comics), crossover - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2015-12-28
Packaged: 2018-05-09 23:53:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5560750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheiaNoire/pseuds/DarkArtsDabbler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tonight, a death had nearly coloured his hands crimson yet again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Midnight Plague

Their deaths loomed over him like a plague none could solve. Their faces were the bacteria fucking up the cells of his brain until his thoughts were nothing but mush, continuously squeezed out of its essence of sanity till there was nothing left but a profound blackness, of sludge and matter unknown to the physical world.

And tonight, a death had nearly coloured his hands crimson yet again.

Elsa could take care of herself, or so John had kept telling himself. He'd seen her proven herself capable time and again, blasting her way out of a swarm of 'uglies', as she liked to call them, without a scratch laid on her. John trusted her to handle herself as he immersed himself in the magick, the dirty side of their reluctant yet impeccable partnership, unaware of everything around him.

Elsa could take care of herself.

Until she couldn't.

The details were vermilion, images stained red as her flaming hair. John could feel her fading before he saw it happening. Fuck all those descriptions about bad things happening in slow motion; all he saw was lightning. Elsa, dying in his arms. Her eyes as bright and patronising and sharp as ever, but he knew those flames would soon die out.

But they didn't.

Did they?

He remembered her getting back up, barking him to move his lazy arse and get the hell out of there. And everything was fine. She lived.

Then what the fuck was this he was seeing? She was in his arms again, piercing those daggers in her eyes into his again, as if daring him to get all mushy with her around. She liked her men strong, she'd told him that before. She wouldn't have him grieving over her if she... She'd never finished that sentence. John wished she had, so he could prepare for this blow. No, not a blow; it was a slow descend into darkness, one he knew all too well.

All on you, Constantine.

One more dead because of you.

Go on, tell her how much you /really/ cared for her. She wouldn't live to cherish it. You'd be left alone, the burden of loss and guilt dragging you down with her.

Those lights were fading quickly, now. He didn't know if he was imagining it, but he thought he saw some semblance of gentleness in her eyes. "It's okay," he heard her whisper, hoarse and struggling. "Fucked if you cry over me, Constantine. Just..."

She went still in his arms.

His scream of grief tore through his throat...

...and he sat up straight in bed.

He felt someone stir next to him, and he slowly turned, afraid of what he'd see there. It was Elsa, sleepy eyes looking up at him. "John? What's it? Are you...?"

"I'm good, princess," he managed, thanking all the gods he didn't believe in that his voice remained calm, even with the relief threatening to break through the dam. "Go back t'sleep, will you?"

"Mm," was her response, and just like that, she drifted back into slumber.

He stayed awake for a long time after that, lying next to her, feeling her warmth seep through the sheets. The dream weighed heavily in his psyche, and fuck, it scared the hell out of him. It could have happened. It could have damn well happened. And if he did... He didn't know what he was going to do.

Jesus, what would he have done if...?

Angrily, he pushed the thoughts away. It was too damn late to contemplate a loss, and he was too damn tired to have the faces of his dead friends haunting him all over again. So he'd have to concentrate on the one distraction he had near him.

Slowly, he let an arm drape over her body, cherishing every bit of warmth he could savour from her. She was alive. Fuck, that was all that mattered. Elsa Bloodstone wasn't that easy to kill. John had trusted her before, and he'd have to trust her again. And he did; he could feel sleep pulling him back in once he let her presence soothe him, blocking out all the macabre images he'd got lying around.

She was alive.

That was all that mattered.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to thank (and curse and whatever the hell you do to) the people who pushed me into this ship in the first place. You know who you are. Also, dangerouscommiesubmersive on Tumblr for the brilliant spark of thought that spawned the ship. So there goes a drabble about a ship that could never be, left asway in the sea of impossibility and feels conjured in the ever-stirring minds that fuel this fandom.


End file.
